Two days into the Great Compulsory National Rejoicing, and I am going out of my mind with boredom. The weather's terrible, nobody's emailed, nobody's called, nobody's buying Paul Brown's and Maggie O'Sullivan's terrific new books, and, since the heady rush of the launch week, nobody's buying or downloading the Moors' album.

BBC4's Punk Britannia series has been cheering me up momentarily - powerful flashbacks, but as though nothing has changed as silver has given way to gold to diamond, while all remains in reality ashes, as though we are still in the same dreadful ashy place. (Though, whisper it softly, the music, if slowed down by 50%, was pretty lame ... I always preferred Junior Murvin's "Police and Thieves" to the Clash's travesty ... and the politics were jejeune. So maybe even that didn't cheer me up as much as I imagined.)

But hey, you've got to hand it to her. Apparently, the first time she played golf she got eight holes-in-one. (Or was that someone else?)